


"He's the fun Uncle. You know, the immortal one."

by Salt00



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author is not Jewish, Author is trying ;_;, Crowley is everyone's uncle now, Fluff, Gen, Immortality, Jewish Crowley (Good Omens), Judaism, Original Character(s), Snakes, This family adopted him and not even hell could stop him now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19841128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salt00/pseuds/Salt00
Summary: Uncle Crowley had been showing up to the occasional Shabbat for as long as anyone could remember. Even grandma remembered him from when she was a child. So of course they knew he was immortal. Probably. Uncle Ted wasn't convinced, but he'd married into the family anyways. Everyone else figured he had to be an immortal of some sort, not that anyone could agree on what kind. And no one was about to ask said immortal-man either. That would ruin all the fun!(Based off of mehofkirkwall from Tumblr)





	"He's the fun Uncle. You know, the immortal one."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I don’t know much about Jewish culture. I’m 1/8th Jewish, but other than a handful of stories from my grandmother’s childhood about half-remembered Jewish traditions, I know next to nothing. I did not grow up Jewish, thus I will probably get A LOT WRONG and for that I’m sorry. I’m tried. Sadly, google can only teach so much. PLEASE let me know if anything I say on this is even remotely offensive, I really really don’t mean it to be, and if it is let me know so I can change it.

Isaak walked with a pep in his step as he made his way to the temple. The year was 1882, and he was one lucky man. London. London! What a place! He had holes in his boots and blisters on his feet, but he wouldn’t let that dampen his mood.

He was still a bit rough with the language, but he was picking English up fast. It was hard, but it was worth the work. He’d also been saving up his money— soon he’d have enough to send to his wife. His poor wife, still in Lithuania. Soon though, soon she would be able to join him in England.

He felt a small pang of fear in his belly despite his optimism. Though he was learning fast, he worried he wasn’t learning fast enough. This was the first time he was to go to this temple, and he worried the people there would look at him and only see ‘dirty Litvak peasant’. He’d never been to an English synagogue service. He knew it wouldn’t be exactly like the ones at home and he feared accidentally offending his new neighbors.   
  
Steeling his nerves, he entered the small temple. It was homely. Different from what he was used to— very different— but it was… nice. Very British, he had to admit. Most things were, in Britain.

Still, he shifted uneasily as he peered around the place. There were many people. Too many. Isaak cursed himself for being so weak and shy. His eye drifted over the people and found no one else like himself: alone. Everyone had someone. A wife, a friend, a group. Not him though, he was alone.

Then his eye spotted one man. One man, dressed in nice dark clothes. Very nice, Isaak realized. The man even had fancy black spectacles hiding his eyes from view. Isaak gave one more look around the gathered people and made his decision. With a deep breath, he gathered his courage and walked over to the man.

“Hallo mister. Do you… mind if I sit here?” Isaak spoke slow and careful, a bit proud at how clearly he managed the sentence.

“Ngh?” The man artfully replied, looking around for a moment as though Isaak was talking to anyone else. Then he shrugged.

To an Englishborn Londoner, the man likely would have appeared dismissive and rude. To Isaak however, having been born in the Livonian countryside, this was interpreted this very differently. It was normal back home to act ‘standoffish’ as such. In fact, when Isaak had first come to London, their ‘cheer’ had stunned him. It still did, actually. He quickly learned, however, that this ‘cheer’ was only surface level. Back home, strangers might not give one another a smile crossing the street, but you’d be damned sure that stone-faced man would not hesitate to lend a helping hand when needed. When someone smiled, they truly meant it. In London, it was more a mystery. Some would just smile even in situations where they clearly did not wish to. It felt… dishonest.

And so, the body language that the man  _ intended _ to be off putting was actually a much-desired dose of home for Isaak.

With a quiet relieved sigh, Isaak allowed a small smile to drift to his lips. He plopped onto the bench beside the nicely-dressed man.

A few moments passed as Isaak stared at his daddles in silence. Then he looked back at the man beside him, who appeared to be respectfully giving Isaak space, his head tilted away.

_ (In truth, Crowley was purposefully ignoring the human.) _

“Ach, so… are you… London-born, yes?” Isaak tried to strike up conversation, wincing at his words. The man slowly turned to face Isaak. He seemed to stare through Isaak's soul. Nonetheless, Isaak couldn’t actually  _ see _ the man’s eyes, so his resilient optimism chose to believe the man was just squinting. Perhaps he had poor eyesight? Peering closer at the black glasses, Isaak figured the fellow must not be able to see very well at all. He tried to exaggerate his friendly smile for the man. It went against his years of living in a stoic world, but he was a Londoner now. Londoners smiled some of the time.

“Naw, wasn’t born in London,” the man said crisply.

“Ah. Same here.” Isaak said, though he was sure the man could tell. “Are you… new in city too?”

“No— well, actually...” The man raised a hand and ran it through his hair, humming. “Guess I am, now. Haven’t been back here in a long time, city’s nothing like I remember it.”

Isaak nodded his head in understanding. “Mm, yes. I understand. You have…” Isaak trailed off, realizing his question might be a sore topic, but not wanting to trail off, “you have family here? Maybe?” He gestured to the assembled people.

The man scoffed. “Psh, no. Nope, no one.” The man hunkered into himself, sliding down to sink into the pew.

“Oh. I too am alone.” Isaak said. “Well. Not anymore. You are alongside me now.”

“You just met me,” the man huffed. “You don’t even know my name.”

Isaak shrugged. “I did not say we are friends. I say we are not alone.”

The man was silent for a moment. “Sure, whatever. We ain’t chuckaboos or anything though, so don’t get any funny ideas,” the man muttered.

Isaak didn’t know what a chuckaboo was, but he nodded along anyways. “Isaak,” he said.

“Huh?”

“My name. Isaak Rosenblum.”

“Oh. Crowley.”

The service began after that, and so they listened and sang together.

When all was said and done, people began dispersing. Isaak peered at his new friend. “Ach, if you are lone, and I am lone, we should dinner together.”

Crowley looked at him oddly for a moment. “Just to double check here, you aren’t talking about, y’know. Mixing chocolate milk, right? Not that I’ve got a problem with it, just not interested.”

Isaak frowned. “No…? I have little to my name, no chocolate milk.”

“Biting pillows. Sitting upside down on chairs. Horizontal tango?”

Isaak frowned. His English was still quite poor.

Crowley made a rude gesture.

“Oh!” Isaak's face flushed red. “No, no. I have wife, still far from here.” He idly wondered if it just a Londoner thing, to be unashamed to ask if one was homosexual.

“Neat, whatever. You got booze?”

“Some.”

“Cool, let’s go.”

It didn’t take long for the duo to trek to Isaak's small home. Though, ‘home’ may have been a stretch.

“I save money for wife.” Isaak explained with slightly forced pep as he invited Crowley into the small room. ‘Room’ was a stretch as well.

“Tch. Tough lot you got here.”

“No! Is not bad, is very good!” Isaak exclaimed. “Hah, you understand not. Is warm. No starving. No der tkhum-ha-moyshəv— Pale of Settlement. Ack, I mean, no being hunted.”

“Yea, I know what that is,” Crowley muttered.

“Oh. Yes. As I was say, I am lucky.” With a grin, he lifted his single bottle of alcohol. “And with this, doubly lucky, no?”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Can’t argue with that!” Then he pulled his own bottle out, seemingly from nowhere.

Isaak laughed at the good cheer. He set his own bottle on the small crate he used as a table. There were no chairs, so the two sat on the plain floor. Isaak split his meager supply of bread with Crowley. Crowley tried to refuse eating, but Isaak was a stubborn man and refused to let the other starve on the Shabbat.

Bread eaten, the two clinked their respective alcohols and drank. The ale Crowley had provided was good, but Isaak still preferred the beer of his home. Nonetheless, the drink was good, and so they drank. Had Isaak a more refined taste for drink, he likely would have noticed that Crowley’s drink was  _ very _ expensive. He didn’t though.

The night was good. The two laughed and talked, sharing good times and small tales. Crowley learned about Isaak's wife and hopes for the future, as well as a few harrowing tales of his journey away from his home. Isaak learned snippets of Crowley’s loneliness (though the man certainly didn’t word it as such). It only took getting tipsy for Isaak’s paltry English to fail him, but to his delight Crowley was fluent in Yiddish. It didn’t take long for the two to be well on their way to being sloshed.

“Most don’ trust me, y’know?” Crowley said with only a slight slur.

Isaak frowned. “Why not? Y’seem friendly enough t’me.”

Crowley swung his head to stare at Isaak, eyebrows raised. “Me?  _ Friendly?!” _

Isaak shrugged, drunkenly indifferent. “Yeah, sure! Mebby not fer a London fellow, but yer decent folk. English, they’re… they’re not like my old lot. It’s actions that speak, y’know? Not if someone smiles or not. Tha’ don’t matter if y’ain’t willin’ to lend a helpin’ hand.” 

“You don’t know me.” Crowley muttered into his drink, voice more bitter than the alcohol.

“Not much, but y’don’ seem so bad t’me.” Isaak said with a flippant shrug. Crowley opened his mouth, eyebrows scrunched furiously as he prepared to interrupt. Isaak kept speaking though. “‘Sides, whether yer a good person, or a bad person, no one deserves to be lonely. Y’know?”

Crowley flinched. “Not everyone thinks that way…”

“They should.”

“...Tch. I could rob you, y’know? I could ruin you.”

Isaak laughed. “So could a pigeon! ‘nd I still feed ‘em bread when I got the extra.”

“...“

“Lissen.” Isaak said, as seriously as a man who was a bit drunk could. “Is not about what people ‘can’ or ‘can’t’ do. A lil girlie on the street could shank me tomorrow. It’s about what people  _ do _ do. And I’m not about to judge people ‘till they’ve given me a reason to.”

“... Tch.”

The night rolled into the morning as laughter rolled into slumber.

When Isaak woke, Crowley had gone. He thought little of it, busy with work as he was.

A few days later when a new pair of boots appeared in his small corner of a home, he wondered. There was no name attached, but Isaak wasn’t a fool. He only knew one person.

So it was on the next Shabbat that Isaak again walked with a pep in his step, boots strong and sturdy. He was disappointed when he found no Crowley to be found. When he asked others at the temple of the strange man, none knew of him. Oh, they remembered that he had appeared the week prior— the man had a certain aura about him, not the sort to be forgotten easily— but none had seen him before or since.

It didn’t sit well with Isaak. Crowley, though he tried to hide it, had been very lonely. Much like Isaak was. The man had stood out with his fashion, so Isaak figured he couldn’t be too hard to find.

Three weeks later, Isaak was regretting his optimism.

Granted, his optimism had bought him quite a great deal. Work had been  _ fantastic _ and he’d gotten many lucky breaks. In fact, he’d saved up enough to send a ticket for his wife, as well as enough to get a small home of his own.

But he hadn’t managed sight of Crowley. Still, he kept trying.

On the fifth week of his search, the first Shabbat with his wife, he finally struck gold. He caught sight of Crowley’s odd glasses just out of the corner of his eye. Isaak had  _ wanted _ to shout and cheer, but he felt that distasteful. Instead, he quietly padded up to the man, so as not to spook him. He tapped him on the shoulder.

“Gah!” Crowley spooked.

“Sorry, did not mean to scare,” Isaak said with a grin as Crowley whipped around to face him. “You have been gone! You must meet my wife, yes! And you will tell me of your months!” Isaak began tugging Crowley along.

“Let go of me,” Crowley hissed.

Isaak did so, immediately. “Ach, sorry. I should not have. Sorry, sorry. I have been looking for you, my… eagerness…? No, enthusiasm. My enthusiasm got a hold of me.”

“You… have been looking for me?” Crowley looked skeptical.

Isaak nodded eagerly. “Yes! Is good to have one to share Shabbat with, no?” Isaak pouted. “And you have left me all lone these past weeks! No, I shall not accept it.”

Crowley scoffed. “Well, you’re wife’s made it to London, so you’re not alone anymore.”

Isaak rolled his eyes. “Just come celebrate shabbat with me, bastard.”

Crowley choked out a surprised laugh. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“And no more disappearing! You don’t have to join every week, but I want to see you at  _ least _ every two months, if not more often! Do you hear? Crowley! Are you listening?!”

  
  


* * *

  
  


_ 1996 _

Ester liked Uncle Crowley. Most of her family did, of course. Still. Ester thought he was the  _ coolest. _ She knew they weren’t actually related. Uncle Crowley wasn’t like her other uncles. That didn’t make him any less family in Ester’s books though. 

Uncle Crowley didn’t come over very often. Only every couple of months. The times Uncle Crowley did come were the best. He was fun in a way no other adult was. Where her mum might tell her  _ No more Hamantashen! _ Uncle Crowley would just give her a little eyebrow waggle and smirk, and pass her another of the pastries sometime later in the night when no one was looking. He’d even play games with Ester and her sister. Not always, but there were a few times Ester managed to drag him into a game of hide-and-seek. Unlike most adults, Uncle Crowley was  _ fun. _

Sometimes she wondered, though. Well, her entire family did. Sometimes, in the days after Uncle Crowley visited, the adults would start talking. She  _ knew _ they spoke about him, but they usually switched to Yiddish to do so. She didn’t know much Yiddish.

_ “He’s gotta be a vampire. His eyes are probably red— that’s why he covers them!” _

_ “Don’t be stupid. He’s probably just got sensitive eyes. ‘Sides, we’ve seen him in the sun before. Also vampires aren’t real.” _

_ “Oh, so  _ vampires _ aren’t real, but human-shaped snakes  _ are?”

_ “He hisses! Besides, there was that one time where I swear I saw him unhinge his jaw.” _

_ “You were drunk, idiot. Uncle Crowley might be immortal, but I doubt he can unhinge his jaw. That’s just doesn’t seem possible.” _

So it was understandable that Ester was over the moon when Uncle Crowley showed up at their doorstep, traditional bottle of wine in tow.

She’d been pretty disappointed when he hung out with the adults. Still, Uncle Crowley was funny, even though Ester knew a lot of the funny parts were things she didn’t understand.

“Ah yeah, I remember that one. You were, what, 17 at the time?” Uncle Crowley was saying to grandma. He froze for a moment, his face twitching like hers did when she was caught in a lie. “Uh, actually I have a reasonable explanation about—” 

Grandma laughed and patted Uncle Crowley on the shoulder, swiftly changing the topic with an air of amusement. Uncle Crowley gave her a baffled look. Then he muttered darkly about ‘always being cut off’.

Still, talking got boring after awhile, so her and her sister decided to play hide ‘n seek in the garden. Which was still kinda boring since they did it all the time

What was  _ less _ boring was when she came nose to nose with a snake. Still hidden under her mum’s bush, she stared with wide eyes at the snake. It flicked it’s tongue. Ester had a moment to consider which was worse: getting found and losing the game, or being eaten by a snake?

She didn’t really know, so she just opened her mouth and tried to scream silently.

It didn’t work.

Then the snake slithered closer and she really did scream.

All hell broke loose as the adults swarmed into the garden. Mum joined her in shrieking when she saw the little snake. Dad was yelling too, reaching for a metal bat to deal with the snake.

“SHUT UP!”

Everyone froze. The sudden silence felt almost unnatural, but it wasn’t. No one had ever heard Uncle Crowley yell, at least no one still alive. Suddenly Ester wasn’t afraid of the snake. Her entire attention was drawn to Uncle Crowley as he stalked forward towards her and the snake. She wasn’t afraid of him, per say. But there was a sort of power that demanded her attention. She’d never seen him scowl like he was. Small scowls, playful scowls, annoyed scowls sure. But never like this.

He came to where she and the snake lay in the underbrush of mum’s garden. Ester cast a quick glance at the little snake, and felt a moment of kinship in the uncertainty of a powerful adult figure looming overhead.

Uncle Crowley’s black glasses hid his eyes like always, but she could practically feel his judgement. Both on her and the snake. Then he sighed, rolling his head in an exaggerated motion indicating he had just rolled his eyes. He crouched down to her level and cocked a single eyebrow. “So, you found a snake.”

Ester waited for him to say more, but apparently that was all. He stared at her expectantly. “Uhm… yeah. He’s scary…” she mumbled.

Crowley sighed again, seeming to deflate. “I bet  _ she _ thinks you’re even more scary. You’re quite a lot bigger than her. She didn’t even do anything to you, now did she? The little lady isn’t even poisonous.”

“O-oh…” Ester felt her cheeks redden. When Uncle Crowley said it like  _ that _ she realized that she shouldn’t have judged a book by it’s cover. Or a snake by it’s snakeskin? That’s what mum was always telling her, always. She lowered her gaze to the little snake. “Sorry,” she whispered to the snake.

“And what about  _ you?” _ Uncle Crowley said, pointing a finger at the snake. Curiously, the snake flinched. “What do you think you’re doing here? Humans don’t usually take kindly to snakes, you should know this. Did you forget about survival instinct?”

Ester watched as the snake lowered her head and let out a tiny hiss.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Uncle Crowley whispered. Then he offered a hand to the little snake. “Well? Would you rather stick around and get tread on?”

The little snake wasted no time practically sprinting up Uncle Crowley’s arm and onto his shoulder, wrapping herself tightly.

Uncle Crowley stood, dusting off his immaculate pants. He turned back to the assembled adults, who looked on in mixes of bafflement, horror, or amusement. “Well, looks like I’ve got a little date with relocating some out-of-place wildlife. It’s been fun.”

“No!” Ester cried as his words registered. She leapt forward and clung to his leg, to his obvious surprise. “You only just got here! You can’t go yet!” Tears were welling in her eyes.

“Erk,” said Uncle Crowley.

“Young Ester is right,” Grandma spoke with a keen smile. “You simply can’t leave yet. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to ‘relocate’ your new snake after the Shabbat, uncle. Relocating sounds quite a lot like work, if you ask me.”

“Err…”

“Besides, surely you don’t want to cause Ester to cry?”

Ester saw her cue and turned the full force of her puppy dog eyes on Uncle Crowley, tears now only just held back.

“Oh, you think I’ve never said no to crying eyes before?” Uncle Crowley said with conviction that would have fooled anyone who hadn’t known him for more than five minutes.

Grandma just raised a single eyebrow. Ester noted how similar it looked to the way Uncle Crowley did it.

With all due drama, Uncle Crowley tossed back his head and moaned to the heavens “Fiiiiiiiine!”

Ester cheered, as well as a few of the younger adults. Grandma just smirked.

Ester was happy to remain clung to Uncle Crowley’s leg as the man strutted a few steps forward. He peered down at her. “So, is this how it’s going to be?”

Ester nodded.

“Well, who am I to disagree?” he said with a wicked grin. In one smooth motion, he lifted her off the ground and onto his shoulder (the one without the snake). “Looks like I have two little snakes now!”

Ester squealed in delight. She shared a conspiratorial glance with the snake. Now that they both clung to Uncle Crowley, she couldn’t find any of her earlier fear. She was finding herself growing fond of the snake, as it were.

Uncle Crowley and the adults sat back down at the table and resumed whatever their previous conversation had been. Ester noticed some of them eyeing Uncle Crowley (Or rather, the snake on his shoulder,) with caution, but no one was about to tell him he couldn’t have a snake at the dinner table. Uncle Ted certainly looked like he wanted to, but Uncle Ted had learned the hard way years ago not to tell Uncle Crowley what to do.

Ester started a game of Stick-out-your-tongue with the snake. It was a very sophisticated game she made up on the spot. The first player would stick out their tongue, and then the second player would also stick out their tongue.

Time passed as the adults drank. 

Ester was nearly dislodged when Uncle Crowley jerked in surprise as his ringtone rang out. He muttered a curse (which Ester probably wasn’t supposed to hear) and dug out his phone.

“Angel, I’m busy, what do you want?!” he hissed into the little black flip phone.

Ester strained to hear the other side of the conversation, but Uncle Crowley held the phone to his other ear. Maybe the snake could tell Ester, later.

“Whu, no I’m not working right now! It’s the— tch, never mind. No, I’m not at work. Why?” Uncle Crowley paused for a moment, his face souring in his own form of concern. “Everything alright?”

No one dared to breathe, for fear they would interrupt Uncle Crowley.

“ExCUSE me?! YES I have a life outside of hanging around you! _ ‘Where am I?’ _ I’m  _ out, _ is that not enough for you?...” He huffed. “...We can do dinner tomorrow.”

“Uncle Crowley, is that a friend of yours? Would he like to come by?” Grandma interrupted, her grin speaking of mischievous and plotting.

Uncle Crowley twitched, like he had forgotten his audience. “Erk, no! Ah, not talking to you angel.” He took his mouth away from the phone to address Grandma. “No I’m not inviting him. ‘Sides, he’s goyishe.”

Grandma just smirked at Uncle Crowley. “Well, please do let your gentleman friend know that he’s welcome to join us the next time you visit.”

“Ngk,” said uncle Crowley. “Err, I’ll call you back angel.  _ Tomorrow _ , it's the Sabbath for G- S- Someone’s sake!”

Uncle Crowley slapped his flip phone together, shoving it into his tiny pant pockets. He grumbled, and that was that.  
  


After Uncle Crowley left, as usual, the arguments started.

“I  _ fuckin’ _ told you all he was a snake!”

“Abe, watch your language! There are kids!”

“Right, sorry, I fuckin’ told you all he was a  _ serpent _ , is that better?!”

“Just ‘cause Uncle Crowley likes snakes doesn’t mean he  _ is _ one! And how does that have anything to even do with him? Snakes aren’t immortal dumbass.”

“A  _ demon _ snake I tell you! Like, sheyd, y’know.”

“Yeah right, that’s bull. Uncle Crowley might be a bit odd, and probably immortal, but that’s no reason to go off calling him a sheyd. That’s just rude.”

“Hey, I’m not saying he’s evil or anything.”

“But all demons are evil!”

“You don’t  _ know _ that! You can’t judge all demons just because they’re demons! I’m sure there are nice ones. Nice  _ snake _ demon, like Uncle Crowley!”

“You just think he’s a snake ‘cause of how he walks, don’t you.”

“It’s like the man has no hip joints!”

  
  


* * *

_ 2003 _

“Two angels walk into Shabbat, one good and one bad…” Cousin Abe whispered.

“Hush you!” Grandma said, cuffing him across the head.

Ester was  _ very _ excited. Well, most of her family was, but still. Not only had Uncle Crowley shown up for Shabbat, he’d brought his  _ friend.  _ The same friend that caused endless arguments among the family (not that Uncle Crowley himself didn’t also cause endless arguments).

_ “Uncle Crowley peels avocados in the dark, I tell you! He’s got that one guy, the one he calls  _ angel! _ How is that  _ not _ gay?!” _

_ “Maybe his angel friend is an actual, real angel?” _

Neither argument was dissuaded by the prim, gay-as-fuck looking gentleman who swanned in besides Crowley. The two looked like polar opposites. 

Ester shifted the small package on her lap uneasily. She’d worked really hard on it, but she was still worried Uncle Crowley wouldn’t like it.

Everyone sat down for food, the usual proceedings going as they did. Uncle Crowley’s friend, introduced as Aziraphale, was rapped with attention towards the proceedings. He would occasionally whisper questions to Uncle Crowley, who in turn would tell him to ‘shut up, angel!’

Dinner began as it usually did (though Uncle Crowley rarely ate much more than a mouthful of anything that wasn’t alcohol). Debates, as they usually did, sprang up. Ester struggled not to snicker into her juice at the near panicked look on Aziraphale’s face when Uncle Crowley joined a particularly sharp debate over some technicality listed in the Torah.

“So, Mr. Aziraphale,” Grandma said while Uncle Crowley was still distracted, “I do thank you for joining us. It's been awhile since we’ve had anyone new at this table.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll admit, I had no idea Crowley, er, practiced. He can be rather tight lipped at times.”

Grandma nodded sagely. She lowered her voice, causing Ester to strain forward to hear. “Now I’m certain you’ve known him longer than I. But we Rosenblums take care of our own— and Uncle Crowley is included in that.” Grandma gave a smile that was anything but gentle. “So don’t go giving any of us a reason to dislike you, yes?”

Aziraphale looked positively baffled.

“Yes?” Grandma repeated, tone unchanged but smile promising pain if disappointed.

“Er, of course! W-wouldn’t dream of it!” Aziraphale stammered. He frowned for a moment. “You’ve got the same smile as him. I’d recognize it anywhere…”

Grandma shrugged, looking proud of herself. “I learned from the master.”

“Eyyyy, Ester!” Uncle Crowley called to her. “How’s the little lady doing?”

Ester giggled. She knew he wasn’t referring to her, but rather her snake. The very same one that had scared her many years ago. “I’ll go grab her! She’ll be happy to see you again!” Ester returned to the dinner table moments later with Noodle the snake held in her arms.

“Oh? And what’s this?” Uncle Crowley asked, pointing to the knitted Snake-cozy Ester had made for Noodle during the winter.

“It’s to keep her warm!” Ester beamed, handing the snake over to Uncle Crowley. Noodle slid out of the snake-cozy and up onto Uncle Crowley’s shoulder, as she always did when he visited. She flicked her tongue in greeting.

“Why, what a lovely snake you have there,” Aziraphale added. “A snake-cozy, that's a positively marvelous idea!”

“Do you have snakes, Mr. Aziraphale?” Ester asked.

“Oh, well, not quite so. They are such lovely creatures though.”

Ester pretended not to notice the faint blush on Uncle Crowley’s cheeks.

Dinner finished and the adults continued to drink, talking and talking.

“Oh, Ester!” her mum said, “didn’t you have something for Uncle Crowley?”

Ester beamed and pulled out the package. She fidgeted when she turned to Uncle Crowley’s raised eyebrows. “Um, Uncle Crowley, I dunno if you remember, but you once told me that you didn’t get presents very often, and you see, I’ve been knitting and weaving for a while, and I thought, um—” she thrust the package into his arms.

“A gift?” Crowley murmured, sounding skeptical.

“Oh how kind! Oh, why don’t you open it dear?” Aziraphale said unnecessarily, as Uncle Crowley was already carefully pulling back the wrapping paper.

The package opened in his lap, Uncle Crowley just stared at it.

“Um,” Ester stuttered, worried he disliked it, “I just thought, since it was ‘cause of you that I got Noodle, but I couldn’t really get you a snake, but you said snakes were your favorite, so I thought, y’know, this was the next best thing?”

Uncle Crowley looked at her, down at the gift, back to her, then down again to the gift. With hands that did not shake, he slowly pulled the long fabric out and held it up to see.

“A scarf?” Uncle Crowley murmured.

“Yeah! I made it thick, ‘cause I know you get cold a lot— oops, I wasn’t supposed to say that sorry, I mean everyone knows you try not to shiver, it’s pretty obvious— um, sorry, I just thought you might want a winter scarf?”

Said scarf was long and thick, black and red. One end taper off into an oval head, with bright yellow snake eyes, the other end tapering off into a snake tail.

“It’s very soft…” Uncle Crowley murmured as he continued to stare at it.

“Why how lovely! My dear, it looks just like y— ah, well, you know.” Aziraphale said.

“I-I hope the colors are okay?” Ester looked at her feet. “I figured you like black, and your hair is red, so I just kinda thought that this way the colors won’t clash with whatever you wear…”

Almost reverently, Uncle Crowley wrapped the scarf around his neck. It was long enough to wrap three times, leaving the snake head to rest on his chest.

“...Do you like it?”

Uncle Crowley was silent for an endless moment. “It’s tied for favorite.”

Ester’s eyes lit up. “You like it!?”

Uncle Crowley hunched his shoulders a bit, causing the scarf to ride up and cover up to his nose. “Hmmm… Sure.”

Aziraphale guffled at his companion. “Dear Ester, I can’t say I’ve ever seen him quite like this! G- S- Someone certainly knows he won’t say thank you in words, but he certainly is grateful!”

Uncle Crowley speared Aziraphale in the side with his elbow. “Ssssshut it!” he hissed. The visible bits of his cheeks appeared a bit red.

Ester couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of her.

The fact that even decades later he would still wear her scarf (though even then the scarf was oddly still in mint-condition,) his actions only proved Aziraphale's words.

_ “Another point to me! Uncle Crowley totally hissed!” _

_ “Shut it Abe.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Realized that Crowley would've been asleep during the 1880s woops, too late now. In this fic he's just avoiding Aziraphale by pretending to nap, I guess. That's what I'd do to avoid someone, anyways.
> 
> Also, bonus points if people recognized some of the late 1800s slang I threw in the first bit ;)


End file.
